


Breathless Beginnings

by Jadzia7667



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-05
Updated: 2005-11-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 01:51:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10064186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jadzia7667/pseuds/Jadzia7667
Summary: Severus implements his plan, such as it is. Disclaimer: Not mine. They belong to that British woman over there. I'm just taking them out for a bit of air. Really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

Harry was running late. Entirely to be expected, of course. Practice had been rather intense; Harry needed a shower before he was fit to be in human company again. As usual, his fantasies came into play while the steaming water pounded on his back and shoulders. He soaped himself thoroughly and allowed his mind the freedom to do what it would.

Visions of dark hair, baby fine and soft as silk, midnight eyes lit with desire, thin lips softening and parting in gasping invitation….Harry stopped himself. No. This was utterly inappropriate; sexy as hell, but completely unacceptable. He, Harry Potter, did not dream about ravishing his Potions Master. He did not dream about wrapping his legs around the older man and penetrating him repeatedly until Snape’s eyes rolled back in his head and he convulsed his pleasure. 

He did not dream about kissing the man until they were both panting with urgent need. He did not dream about touching every single silky inch of that pale skin with his hands and mouth and tongue and cock. He did not dream of spending countless hours in bed with his teacher, learning and teaching things far more interesting than Potions. He did not dream of licking Snape’s admittedly fine arse until he screamed Harry’s name. He did _not_ have a crush on Severus Snape. He didn’t.

Even if he did, the man certainly would not be interested in Harry. Snape wasn’t truly interested in anybody, Harry thought. He was asexual, Harry was sure. In the six plus years he’d attended Hogwarts, there’d never been so much as a whisper about Snape’s personal life. He never went anywhere. He was never seen with anyone. He showed no interest in any other human being, male or female. Except…Harry knew that Snape watched him. 

Harry stepped out of the shower and began to dry himself off. He contemplated the conundrum that was Severus Snape. He could be the man’s friend if that was what he wanted. He’d just put the rest of his thoughts firmly under lock and key.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Severus Snape was not pacing a hole through the dungeon floor; he was merely measuring off the distance between his desk and the back of the classroom. He was not muttering to himself. He was not annoyed beyond all reason at the brat’s utter incapability to be on time, anywhere, for anything.

“Infuriating…maddening…disrespectful…inconsiderate whelp.” Snape was not quivering with pent up frustration. He wasn’t.

“Impossible…keeping me waiting…volunteer to help the brat…no consideration whatsoever.” Snape’s eyes were vivid glittering black, shining with aggravation. Where in the seven hells _was_ the little miscreant?

“Shower room…dead sexy…gorgeous ass…probably off finding some unworthy spotty boy to lavish…” Snape’s incoherent tirade was abruptly cut off at the soft chuckle that invaded his ears. He looked up. Oh no. This wasn’t good. In fact, this was very bad. Snape swallowed…hard.

Harry Potter, in the flesh, looking sexier than anyone had a right to. The look on his face should be illegal, Snape thought faintly. His muscular legs were crossed at the ankle, showcasing impressive thighs outlined by his tight trousers. His slender waist was pressed against the door frame, tee shirt riding up a bit, exposing a delicious looking swathe of soft skin. His shoulder casually held the doorframe in place; he was the picture of insouciant calm. In short, he was the antithesis of Snape’s current persona. 

The infuriating man had the audacity to smile at him then. The words coming from that sinful mouth were drawled, soft, certain, and rife with sexuality. “Sorry, I’m late Professor. I needed a shower. Alone.”

The voice that made Snape’s knees weak and other parts of his body stiffen dropped half an octave, descending directly to Snape’s groin, which twitched interestedly. “Why would you be concerned with whom I am lavishing my…attentions…on, Professor?”

Snape raised his eyes to the spirits. If the man called him ‘Professor’ just one more time in that sinfully promising voice, he was going to explode. He knew it. He felt the storm inside himself gathering strength.

Harry was laughing to himself, intrigued and nearly aroused by now. He suspected he knew what had crawled up the man’s arse. It would be interesting to see if his theory was correct, at any rate. He’d play dumb for awhile longer, he thought. Let the man come to Harry, if he wanted him. Harry had a difficult time believing that this man, of all the men in the world, harbored sexual interest in Harry Potter. If he did…well, Harry wasn’t stupid. He’d enjoy whatever happened. 

Snape’s voice, when it consented to leave his throat, was weak, nervous. “What makes you think I am interested in your sexual escapades, Potter?”

Potter laughed low in his throat, a decadent, iniquitous sound of thrilling promise. “Come now, Professor. I heard every word you muttered.” He smirked smugly at his teacher.

Sweat broke out on Snape’s forehead. This wasn’t going at all the way he’d planned. He’d thought, perhaps, a rational discussion, a careful manipulation around to the topic at hand. Possibly he could offer a trade of some sort; his potions expertise in return for tutoring of another, altogether more intimate skill. Snape’s eyes went wide with mingled desire and apprehension. When, exactly, had he lost control of things so very badly?

The insidiously disloyal portion of his mind whispered to him, “When you saw Potter fucking Malfoy through the floor, that’s when.” He flushed crimson. His rate of respiration increased sharply. His heart began to pound. Unconsciously, he stumbled closer to Potter. It was the only place he wanted to be, after all. He tried desperately to focus, to stop himself, to remain calm and unmoved by the sight of Harry Potter standing less than six feet away from him, smiling.

With a tremendous effort, Snape managed to stop himself from drifting any closer to Potter. His hands balled themselves into fists at his sides. His entire body went rigid from the strain. He would regain control over this conversation. He would. He struggled to regain a semblance of his usual sarcastic self. He was nearly swamped with the visceral desire to slam shut the door, pin the man against it, and plunder his mouth.

Since Snape was not entirely sure how one went about plundering anything, much less a mouth made for sin, he was able to get hold of himself momentarily. He summoned up a pale imitation of his normally fearsome glare and directed it at the frustrating personage in front of him.

“Come all the way in, if you’re coming, Potter. There is much to discuss.” He moved to sit behind his desk, and motioned for Potter to take the stool poised alongside. Potter took the proffered seat and had the audacity to wait patiently for Snape to continue.

Snape attempted to control his trembling muscles. He was going to spontaneously combust and wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Perhaps this was a bad idea. Possibly, Snape mused, it was the worst idea ever in the history of bad ideas. Surely he was a certifiable madman for presuming to think that Potter might ever return the merest hint of the intense feelings that Snape was still in the process of discovering he was capable of. And yet…hadn’t he seen the gleam of interest in the young man’s eyes?

There was also the fact that Potter did indeed have some talent for Potions making. If he would only apply himself. If he would consent to listen and learn and refine his techniques. As a teacher, it was Snape’s duty to encourage such talent, to nurture it along. If he managed to seduce the brat into teaching him the joys of sexual relations along the way, so much the better for him. He should receive some sort of reward for tolerating the impertinent brat, after all.

Stilling his busy mind, he took several deep controlled breaths and made a serious attempt at quashing his rebellious libido. School work first, he reminded himself. He turned to face Potter. He nearly got lost in the deep verdant pools of Potter’s eyes. He took another deep breath resolutely. There, that was better. He was nearly coherent now.

“Mr. Potter, it pains me greatly to impart to you what I am about to say.” He fixed a stern glare on his student. “If you ever repeat it to another living soul, I shall be forced to hex your tongue out of your mouth. I will then require you to ingest it.” Snape’s inner voice snorted loudly. That wasn’t what he wanted to do with Potter’s tongue.

He swallowed again. Potter’s eyes were avid, resting on his face, boring into his soul. He nervously ran a finger around his collar that was suddenly far too tight. “Mr. Potter, you are not the complete imbecile that you present yourself to be. It has come to my attention recently that you have some small grasp of the concepts related to brewing potions that are not complete failures.” 

The infernal prat was grinning at him again, a blinding smile of joy. Damn. This definitely wasn’t going well. Or was it? Potter’s eyes were speculative again. “Your essays on magical theory are not completely hopeless. They are blotchy and poorly executed, but you appear to have an understanding of the underlying principals.”

Potter was nodding now, agreeing with him. Teacher and student in agreement. The world must be spinning in the opposite of its normal direction, thought Snape with a snort. “You have demonstrated, in recent lessons, a somewhat skillful handling of the necessary ingredients. You also appear to have a more than basic understanding of the properties of those ingredients. Your stirring technique is…not without a certain deftness.”

Potter was staring at him. He said softly, mockingly, “I never knew you cared, Professor.” Then he subsided. “Go on, please. You do have a point to make, don’t you?”

Snape nodded before he could restrain himself. “You have a talent, Mr. Potter. An innate talent, for the brewing of potions. Such talent should be encouraged. It is rare enough, and nearly incomprehensible to me that I should observe such talent in such an otherwise dunderheaded individual as yourself.”

Potter snorted. “I think I’ll take that as a compliment, despite the repeated insults. Thank you, Professor. Now,” Potter’s voice turned suggestive. Or perhaps that was Snape’s overactive imagination. “What do you propose we do about it, Sir?”

Oh, Snape had a thousand rejoinders for that simple question. Each was more inappropriate than the last. Severus Snape was a courageous man, under normal circumstances. These circumstances were far from normal. He couldn’t believe he was about to dig himself even deeper, commit himself even further to this ill advised course of action. He steeled himself and took a shuddering, shallow breath before risking a response.

“I am proposing that I provide you with advanced tutoring, Potter. There are still concepts that your reluctantly talented mind has failed to grasp. We can revise those concepts until you understand them.” Potter was regarding him with interest now.

“When you are sufficiently re educated on the basics, we can move on to the more advanced concepts. If you were so inclined, I believe you might make a fine Potions Master someday. If you apply yourself.” Snape sneered at the beautiful young man before him.

Potter’s face was alight with curiosity. “You really think so? I knew my marks had been better lately. I thought you were just finally being fair, with all due respect, Sir.” Potter’s voice turned thoughtful.

“I hadn’t really considered becoming a Potions Master, but it’s appealing to me.” He shot a speculative look at his Professor. “How much extra tutoring do you think I require?”

Snape thought about it. How often could he bear to torture himself with the young man’s nearness? He made a show of consulting his calendar. “I can give you three evenings a week. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. If that is acceptable to you.” Snape smiled inwardly, well satisfied with his latest ploy. That ought to keep the brat from finding a replacement for Malfoy.

Potter was thinking about that, expression far away. At last he responded. “That would be acceptable. Thank you very much, Sir. I really do appreciate this opportunity. I can’t tell you yet that I’ll pursue a Mastery, but I’ll definitely give it consideration.”

Shit. Potter being suggestive was almost easy to deal with in comparison to Potter being thoughtful and mature and grateful. He resisted mightily the urge to reach out and drag the man onto his lap for a thorough snog. Oh, he wanted to, and he thought perhaps Potter would let him, but he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. So he resisted his body’s frenzied shout. Perhaps finding common ground might help him achieve all of his objectives.

“You’re welcome, Potter. See that you don’t waste it.” The words were spoken quietly, but lacked Snape’s usual malicious tone. Potter’s eyes widened.

“When do we start?” Was that eagerness that Snape heard?

They began with first year concepts, and Potter took diligent notes on the areas he’d missed. He asked intelligent questions from time to time. Against his will, Snape was impressed with the astuteness the young man displayed. When they’d completed revision of the third year material, Snape called a halt. Time to put the next part of his plan into action. It had come to him roughly an hour ago and was so simple that he wondered why it had taken him so long.

Potter was putting his book and his notes away when he tensed, hearing Snape’s voice again. “Would you care for a cup of tea before you go, Potter?”

His mouth gaped open like a landed trout’s. Remarkably, it was an attractive look on Harry. Snape began to think all his expressions would be attractive. Idly, he wondered what the man would look like in the throes of orgasm, then remembered he already knew that. He flushed a brilliant shade of red. 

Potter was still staring. He’d closed his mouth, but that pink sinuous tongue came out to lick his lips. The speculative look was back in his eyes. Slowly, he nodded. “I’d love one, thank you.”

Silently, tentatively, Snape led the way to his sitting room. In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought with a sigh. He’d never achieve his secondary objective if he didn’t socialize a bit with Potter. He waved the young man to a chair and busied himself with making tea. Potter was looking around with interest. 

Snape brought the tray over to the small table in between his two very comfortable armchairs and poured out. Potter accepted his cup, drank it thirstily, and regarded him curiously over the rim of the cup. Finally, he spoke.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, mind you, but…” He gestured between them. “Why are you doing this, Sir?”

“Doing what?” Snape’s response was careful, but nervous.

“This. Being friendly. Giving up your time to help me. Making tea.” Potter’s eyes were fixed on his, as though trying to extract meaning from his features.

His voice didn’t tremble at all when he finally answered. “Come now, Potter. Surely it has not escaped your notice that we are no longer enemies.”

Potter muttered. “I’d noticed. Didn’t know you had.”

Snape’s lips twitched. “I have. Animosity no longer serves a purpose between us, Potter.”

“Call me Harry.” Snape’s indrawn breath of surprise was not unnoticed. “At least when we’re alone, all right?” Snape nodded faintly. He was incapable of response just then; he supposed Harry would take it as given that he would use his own first name in private now, too. Severus was not unhappy with this development.

Harry sipped his tea thoughtfully, then commented again. “You used to call me Harry. During our strategy sessions.” Snape nodded again.

The two men sat in rather companionable silence contemplating much the same things, did they but realize it. Harry set his cup down and stood, preparing to leave. Oh no. Snape couldn’t just let him go, could he? Of course not. His hands shook; he spilled the dregs of his tea onto the carpet. He hauled himself to his feet. 

Before he knew it, his hand was on Harry’s arm, restraining him. Harry tilted his face up inquiringly, lips slightly parted as though to speak. Severus was lost. Utterly and completely lost. He stepped forward again, and pulled slightly, bringing Harry lightly against his body.

Severus felt as though he were on fire. They were touching now, from torso to hip, and Severus’ pulse sped up. He did not know that such simple contact could spark such intense response. Harry’s mouth made a small ‘o’ of surprise. He did not pull away. He did not slap Severus. He simply looked expectant.

Severus moved his head ever so slowly nearer to the unbearable temptation that was Harry’s mouth. He tilted his head a bit to the left. He waited with baited breath, for Harry to say something, do something to stop this. Harry did not. He simply waited, lips slightly parted, body quivering. Severus could feel it.

He had to do something, else he’d go up in flames. Slowly, he crept forward. An eternity later, he touched his lips to Harry’s, gently, chastely, tentatively. Harry made a soft approving noise and moved his lips encouragingly. That small sound broke the spell that was holding Severus in place. 

With a moan of distressed embarrassment, Severus pulled violently away and literally ran from the room. He was panting. Never had anything felt so impossibly good, incredibly sweet. He’d never been more frightened in his life. He was completely unprepared for the urgent need awakened in his body by that simple caress. He reached his bedroom door and stumbled inside, slamming it behind him. 

Dimly, he heard Harry moving about in the sitting room some time later, banishing the tea things, banking the fire. Then he heard Harry’s footsteps walking towards the outer door, opening it, moving through it, closing it. Finally he was alone. What had he done? He buried his face in his hands, utterly confused, completely ensnared by his own strong desires and Harry’s consideration of his desire for privacy. He wondered how on earth he was going to face the man at their next meeting. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

When Severus pulled away from him, Harry was incapable of following him. So shocked was he, so surprised, that he was incapable of movement, much less speech. He brought a hand to his lips, touching them gently where Snape had kissed him. Such a sweet, chaste bussing of lips, he thought. It was almost as though Severus had no idea of what he was doing. Almost as though he were completely inexperienced in such things as kissing.

Harry wondered if that were true. All the evidence pointed towards that conclusion. It was obvious to him that Severus was attracted to him. He couldn’t imagine the man kissing anyone, for any reason, unless he felt at least some attraction. He really couldn’t imagine Severus being the type that went for casual liaisons, either. What was the man up to? Harry wondered fruitlessly at that question for several moments, then set about tidying the room, mind still on Severus.

He wanted very much to knock on Severus’ bedroom door and ask him what he was thinking. Instinct told him to let the man alone, at least for tonight. It had clearly been very difficult for the older man to open up as much as he had. Harry would let him think about that until their next meeting. For whatever reason, Severus’ normal self possessed assurance was absent. Harry was not about to frighten him by invading his personal space. It was Friday, thought Harry. That meant they had a tutoring session tomorrow evening.

Harry didn’t know if that would be enough time for Severus to think. He’d let Severus set the pace. The man had acted almost frightened when he ran from the room. Harry didn’t know if he was frightened of Harry, or of himself, or of his strong reaction to the kiss. He intended to find out, though.

Harry stood at Severus’ desk for a moment, then quickly scratched a note for the older man, saying only that he’d see him the next evening for their tutoring session. He signed it with just his name and a flourish. Then he left.

When he fell asleep, a long time later, he dreamed of sweet kisses and tentative caresses. He dreamed of ebony hair surrounding him like a cloud of darkest silk. He dreamed of acres of creamy skin. He tossed and turned restlessly all that night, with a smile on his face.

The End…for now.


End file.
